


camp charity

by irving



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 05:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12029235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irving/pseuds/irving
Summary: my bf is bullying me into writing this but ykno i love him so :/





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [my boyfriend ash who i love so much and hes so wonderful and i would do anything for him](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=my+boyfriend+ash+who+i+love+so+much+and+hes+so+wonderful+and+i+would+do+anything+for+him).



> my bf is bullying me into writing this but ykno i love him so :/

It was August. 

It was hot.

And the impending dread of Holy Oaks' School For Boys hung heavy over Connor McKinley's small, orange head. 

Altogether, his summer had been rather uneventful. As per usual, his parents had shipped him off to summer camp - Camp Charity, which was in the middle of the woods (somehow) - and decided to keep him there four months long. Every month they got a new gaggle of children, so Connor had resigned himself to patiently introducing himself to his rotating cast and crew of cabin members. The exception being Poptarts, whose real name had long been forgotten since someone had caught him smuggling poptarts into camp by shoving them into his underwear waistband, who stayed with Connor. They went to the same school, after all. They had been best friends for as long as Connor could remember - probably since Steve, he had decided, sitting on the cabin porch and watching the cars pull up the dusty road. 

"Kinney, why d'you look so sullen?" Connor looked up at his nickname, his eyes falling on Poptarts, who for once was eating a saltine instead of his usual sweet treat. 

"Huh?" Connor responded intelligently, blinking a few times. 

"Man, you're out of it," Poptarts mumbled through a mouthful of saltine, "you look down in the dumps. You should be happy, we get outta here in a month. Maybe less if another accident with the kitchen happens and somethin' burns down." Connor smiled weakly at Poptarts, giving a thumbs up. 

It was August.

It was hot. 

And  _goddamn_ were these campers taking a long time to get to their cabins. Connor watched them with a bored expression, seeing them take their assignment papers from the counselor, glance at them, then around at the cabins. Some peering over the shoulders of others to see who'd they be rooming with for a month. It was a slow process - everyone was moving at a turtle's pace.

Well, almost everyone. 

There was one kid, who was very excitedly dragging who Connor assumed to be his assigned bunkmate along. The brown haired boy seemed to be mildly uncomfortable with the other one dragging him along. As they approached the cabin, Connor's stomach sank. They would have a talker in their cabin. As the pair came closer, nametags that all campers were forced to wear on the first day of camp came into focus. 

Messy, jittery handwriting on the kid doing the dragging:  _Arnold :-)_

Neat, slim handwriting on the kid being dragged:  _KEVIN_

Connor stood from his bench seating as the two approached, putting on his usual polite smile and extending his hand. "I'm Connor, summer-round-camper at Camp Ch -" 

He was quickly cut off by Arnold, who seemed all too ready to introduce himself despite the nametags.

"I'm Arnold, and this is my  _best friend,_ Kevin Price!" he said quickly. Kevin winced slightly at the 'best friend'. Connor wiped his hands on his pants awkwardly - the tension in the air was almost palpable. He locked eyes with Kevin for a single second, and his stomach twisted itself in a knot. 

Poptarts had always said he had a habit of staring at people. He wasn't wrong, but he wasn't all right either. Not people. 

Just boys. 

A drop of sweat ran down Connor's neck, making a fine line in the skin from the base of his hair down under his shirt. A tingle chased after it, deciding to settle firmly in Connor's gut. He didn't notice, though - his eyes were fixed on Kevin, who had since stopped looking at him and was instead awkwardly trying to detatch himself from Arnold's grip - Arnold was discussing Star Wars plot holes with Poptarts. It was like an out of body experience, except that his main thoughts were moving his body towards Kevin's and - 

No. 

Connor blinked himself out of it. The tingle in his stomach had made a home, there, though. He felt sick, just a little. 

"You - uh - beds. Beds. Bunks," Connor stammered suddenly, swallowing and backing inside the cabin, motioning for Poptarts to follow. 

It turned out Arnold and Kevin were on bunks directly next to Poptarts and Connor. There was only one problem - Arnold had bottom bunk, and so did Connor. Arnold was a talker. Connor did not want this. In a sudden moment of realization, Connor hatched a plan. Pulling Poptarts into the bathroom - which was a bad move in retrospect - he decided to ask his best friend for a small favor.

"You want to switch bunks with me?" Poptarts asked incredulously. "I've done my time at CC for my top bunk privileges, Con." Connor bit his lip.

"So have I," he retaliated weakly. "I don't - Arnold's a talker. You know this already. You two would get along great. Bond over - food. Or something." Poptarts took a defensive bite of a saltine. The two stood in cramped silence, pressed awkwardly between the showers, sinks, and toilets. 

"Fine," Poptarts said, finishing his last saltine. Connor let out a sigh of relief. "However, I do this on one condition." Poptarts assumed his usual devilish grin, tossing the empty plastic bag, formerly home to saltines, into the trash. Connor groaned. 

"Not everything has to have a catch."

"This does. You have to talk to the new guy. Kevin." Connor covered his face in mock exasperation - really, it was to hide the red flush. "Come on, man, you stared at him for like, a full minute and a half." 

"Kids will eat me alive here, Poptarts!" Connor blurted weakly. "They already have! I've barely regained my reputation as another - another straight kid. Which I  _am,_ not that it's any of your business." Poptarts scoffed and rolled his eyes. 

"You want top bunk or not?"

A moment of silence.

Two. 

"Yes," he said, in a tone of defeated acceptance. Poptarts gave a short laugh, and held his hand up for a high-five. It was met with weak enthusiasm. 

"Have fun, top bunk boy!" Poptarts said in a sing-songy voice, practically skipping out of the bathroom. Connor turned to face the mirror. 

How could someone be so damn happy all the time? Connor was barely running on fumes. Summer camp always took more energy than he thought was necessary. Connor doused his face thoroughly in cold water, dried himself, than stared at his reflection. It seemed like him, as it always did. Red hair, freckles, disproportionate features as a result of puberty. Same old, same old. But he knew, like he had known with Steve. 

Something had changed. It was living in his gut now, a deep-set shudder, clawing its way up, slowly, slowly, until all hell broke loose. The shiver, the tingle. It had made its home in Connor's body, and while it didn't show up in the mirror, it remained a presence. 

It was August.

It was hot. 

And Connor had to spend a month at Camp Charity with Kevin Price.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Camp Charity was infamous for several things. 

Number one, the kitchen accident, which was only spoken about in hushed whispers by those who had experienced it. It had resulted in a camp-wide evacuation, and a small wildfire. Connor and Poptarts had been 7 when it had happened. 

Number two, religious lessons. What did you expect from a place called 'Camp Charity'?

Number three, violent games of capture the flag. Even Connor and Poptarts, the most weary campers by far, got riled up in those games. 

Unfortunately, number three was the way the camp started and ended every month. 

Cabins with even numbers - 2, 4, 6 - were pitted against odd numbered cabins. Even counselors got excited. Evens were pink, odds were blue. Connor, who belonged to Cabin 4, was notorious for bringing facepaint, and forcing people to wear it. He, of course, being the sissy he was deep down, enjoyed pink. He found it pleasing. And this was quite possibly the only time he could wear it without feeling ashamed of himself. So, smearing glittering pink paint over his cheeks in a war-paint like fashion wasn't really something he had a problem, especially because he and Poptarts matched every year. Identical designs.

Kevin, being the person Connor had learned him to be, had painted simple streaks on his cheeks. Arnold, however, had opted to paint his whole face pink, and decided the best tactic for capture the flag was to scream. 

Connor had been in this game for years. He thought about this every year, crouched in the dark in his favorite hiding spot. That was where he was now, squinting out at the flashlight beams. He sat against the shed, glaring out at the dark. He rarely retrieved the flag, but he always made it deep into enemy territory. He scratched his chin, thinking about his plan of attack for this. He was completely lost in thought when there was a twig snap behind him, and a bright beam of light on the back of his head. He jumped, covering his mouth to avoid making noise, and ducked instinctually. 

But, to his surprise, it was Kevin. His features were illuminated only by the flashlight, giving him an eerie look as he sat down next to Connor.

"Turn that off," Connor blurted out under his breath, pointing at the flashlight. Kevin looked at it, then at Connor, then clicked it off. The two were engulfed in darkness. The shouts of distant children were the only noise around them for a long time. 

"This is a good hiding place," Kevin said eventually, stretching his legs out. Connor smiled weakly. 

"I've been using it since I joined Camp Charity," he mumbled drawing his own legs closer to his body. "You - uh - you don't strike me as the sports type." Kevin gave him a look, Connor could feel it, even through the darkness. 

"I've been described as.... competitive." Something about his tone made Connor think that might be an understatement. Which was a good thing, he supposed. Gears he thought he had clogged up long ago started turning in his brain. The shiver in his stomach reared its ugly head, like some sort of horrible mythical creature. Connor swallowed. 

"I'm going to get that flag," Connor said suddenly, standing up. He dusted himself off. His body was not his own - his body was currently in the possession of some strange drive to please Kevin Price. His feet started moving without his command - walking, then stalking, then jogging slowly, then sprinting. 

It was over in a minute. Connor was sprinting, flashlight beams passing him on every side as some force drove his body to artfully twist and dodge between younger and less experienced members of the other team. His vision was a blur of lights and his mind was the same - they only shared one common goal. 

Get the flag, and show Kevin you're not a pink-faced wimp. 

His hands touched cloth tied around a piece of wood. He marveled at himself for a second - he didn't think his nonathletic build and inexperience with running altogether would be of any aid here - and yet, his legs carried him here. To the prize. Or, halfway to the prize. He still had to get back.

His self-wonder lasted only a moment, as the force pushing him along forced him back on his feet, buffeting children out of the way with the flag, running faster than he had ever run in his life - faster than he had run in gym class with the threat of a detention, faster than he had run from any bully. 

Connor stumbled over the team line, back to the shed, wheezing and making generally unpleasant noises - his body was not supposed to do what it had just done. He straightened, a noise akin to an asthmatic person with one lung who was a habitual smoker coming out of his mouth, as he ran towards Kevin.

"Kevin, Kevin!" he called, waving the blue flag high in the air for all to see. No, not all. Just Kevin. This was their moment. He had won it for Kevin. "Kevin, I got it!" He jumped a little when he reached the other boy, waving the flag around in a state of astonished disbelief. Kevin seemed less enthused, but he still smiled. 

"Alright!" And that was all he got out of Kevin, though it was accompanied by an excited high five. 

The game was over, then, Connor realized, watching Kevin make his way back. 

He stared at his hand, shuffling slowly after, still wheezing a bit. 

A shower, removal of facepaint, and climb into his bed later, Connor rolled over, so he was looking away from Kevin. 

He stared at his hand for a very long time. 

_You won it for him,_ a small, bitter voice said in the back of his mind. 

_I know,_ came another, more resigned part of his brain. 

_I know._


	3. Chapter 3

Poptarts sat, perched, on the top bunk of the bed, looking at Connor with a concerned sort of intrigue as he read. The bed wobbled beneath them. Connor swallowed, flipping a page despite not having read anything on it. 

As much as he loved his best friend, he freaked him out sometimes. Like when he was doing his thinking thing - glaring and eating a poptart. It was unsettling, really. Connor had ignored it for the last 20 minutes, but he was reaching a breaking point. 

“What do you want?” Connor asked suddenly, tilting his head up sharply. Poptarts blinked, finishing the rest of his snack calmly before responding. 

“Nothin, I’m just thinking.” Connor scoffed, dog-earing his page and putting his book down. 

“Your thinking is never ‘nothing’, Pops.” Poptarts smiled easily, a giggle coming from his mouth. 

“Wellll, sometimes it is. But not this time.” Connor watched as Poptarts assumed his gossip position - legs crossed, arms on knees, leaning forwards. Connor swallowed. “I heard,” began his friend, his voice a whisper even though they were alone in the cabin, “that a certain camper here likes booooys.” Connor swallowed, a drop of sweat running down his forehead. “Plus, this time it’s not you.” 

Camp Charity was, of course, an all boys camp. Basically a boy scout camp, but it focused more heavily on religion. There was an outdoor chapel down in the woods, where they woke up and went to pray every morning to their various faiths - usually Mormon. 

“W-who?” Connor didn’t want to ask, but he couldn’t help himself. Poptarts gave him a meaningful look, and when Connor looked just as confused as before, he sighed.    
“You know…. One of the new campers. You traded bunks to talk to him.” Connor groaned loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Pops, we’ve been over this. Not only does he not like boys, I don’t care if he does or not.”   
“Sure you don’t.”

“I don’t!” Connor’s voice was a squeak - a high pitched, defensive interjection. “It’s none of my business whether or not someone is going to hell.” Poptarts scratched his nose. 

“I dunno, Con. Maybe if you just don’t act gay -”

“No!” Connor interrupted, jabbing a finger at Poptarts’ chest. “That’s a  _ lie _ . You’d be lying to people. If you have gay thoughts you just - you just need to not.” Poptarts furrowed his brow. 

“You can’t just not think things, Con.”

“Yes you can. You just stop thinking things, and problem solved.”   
“Isn’t that lying?” 

Connor swallowed. That was an issue he had struggled with himself, for a time, but he decided it was better than the alternative. 

“No,” he said decisively, crossing his arms. “And for the record, Kevin doesn’t like boys.” Poptarts raised his eyebrows. 

“How d’you figure?” Connor gave him a smug look. 

“He yelled at me yesterday for catching him with no shirt on.” Poptarts let out a laugh at that, and Connor smiled weakly. Really, that had been one of the most terrifying moments of his life. He had stared for a little longer than he should’ve, sure - but that didn’t warrant defensive yelling.

Defensive.

A small part of him took solace in the word ‘defensive.’

_ Maybe he’s like you, _ Connor thought as he picked up his book again. 

Quickly he decided to stop thinking those thoughts, and focus on more pressing matters instead. 


	4. Chapter 4

Nights at Camp Charity were always the worst. 

For starters, everything seemed too loud. The crickets and Arnold snoring and hushed whispers from campers who were determined not to sleep and Poptart’s sleep apnea machine. It was all a haze that made it hard for even the weariest boy to sleep. 

Second of all, nothing was the right temperature. Connor crawled in and out of blankets, tossing and turning in his rickety bed, staring at the ceiling in a pool of his own sweat while he froze to death. 

Third of all, there were the nightmares. 

They got worse at Camp Charity. At home, they were easier to manage. But at camp….. Connor was at the mercy of his wicked brain. 

Horrible, horrible nightmares, ones with bodies touching and sweat and kisses and fire and hell and brimstone and waking him up with sheets stained with a mixture of sweat and tears. 

They would’ve been good dreams, wonderous dreams, if Connor had allowed himself those kind of thoughts. The island dream, which had started as a fantasy, was recurring. 

Only now, with a rotating set of boys from Holy Oak and - as much as Connor hated to admit it - Kevin. 

And, of course, the dream ended with Satan torturing him in hell forever while his family laughed, or told him he deserved it. 

He woke, as usual, at a time he estimated to be around two AM. Rolling onto his side, he stared at the sleeping figure of Kevin in a tangle of emotions. Against his will, a choked sob escaped him, and he quickly buried his face in his pillow as sounds of a similar nature crawled out of his throat. 

Silence.

Muffled, ragged breathing, but otherwise silence. 

“Connie?”

The voice was familiar, heart-achingly familiar, and coming from the top bunk next to him. Connor looked up, squinting bleary-eyed into the darkness. Kevin was looking at him, a gentle, concerned look on his face. 

“K-Kev, morning,” Connor whispered. Kevin smiled weakly.    
“It’s too early for morning,” Kevin mumbled. “Connie, you look sad. You homesick?” Connor hated his heart for jumping at the nickname.

“Y-yeah. Yeah. Homesick. Spent all summer here.” Kevin snickered, rolling onto his back.    
“Well, another month. We’ll make it together.”

“Yeah,” Connor mumbled, rolling onto his back. “Together.”

And with that, he allowed himself to drift off to sleep again. 

Not a nightmare tonight, no - not again.

Instead, his dreams were pink, and cloudy, and full of holding hands and kissing brown haired boys with perfect handwriting and eccentric best friends.


End file.
